


Rule 11

by justbygrace



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, For my Favorite Couple, My version of how things end and come together, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 07:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6895141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When the job is done, walk away."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rule 11

He starts wondering if it applies about two seconds after he gets the text. It's from an unknown number, a long list of numbers that he could trace if he wanted to, but doesn't. He can't decipher the symbols on his screen, but he's seen them before - seen them one time at a farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere - and he has a pretty good idea of what they say. He glances up from the screen, at McGee and Bishop and Gibbs, the familiar clicking of keyboards as they wrap up their last case and wait for a new one to come in. None of them seem to think anything is out of the ordinary, probably wondering what they are ordering for lunch, the same thing he was concerned about before his phone vibrated, but now all he can think as he tips his chair back and focuses on the burnt orange walls is the definition of Rule 11.

He wonders when he starts in autopsy (technically he started upstairs, with Vance, but the Director's long look and nod of understanding didn't make him feel anything other than relief). Palmer, and oh man, he suddenly realized how much he was gonna miss the little autopsy gremlin, threw his arms around him and wept, wiping his nose and sniffling about big brothers and wasted time and so many other questions and he understands, really, it's just hard, you know? Tony laughs, nods, awkwardly pats Jimmy's back and disentangles himself from the octopus hug. Ducky shakes his hand, offers him sage advice in the form of a story Tony actually takes the time to listen to all the way through.

He wonders while he waits for Abby to stop throwing things and then to stop crying and then to stop beating him with her fists and finally to wrap her arms around his neck like she won't ever let go. He accepts her hug more gracefully (and gratefully) than he did Jimmy's, waiting till she lets go (five minutes, sixteen seconds - he counted) before stepping back. She whirls around the lab, reminiscing, still half crying before thrusting a box in his hands. "It's not much," she whispers, "but you'll both remember me by it." He reassures her immediately, no one could forget Abby, before commenting about how she had taken the package from a top shelf. He walks out of the lab with her whispered, "I knew this day would come" ringing in his ears still wondering.

He wonders when he gives Bishop a hug, genuinely realizing he was going to miss her. She had grown to fit the desk well and she deserved the post. He even remembered to tell her so before striding away quickly to hide the moisture in his eyes, he's got other goodbyes to say. Dorneget shakes his hand, but Tony steps back before the boy hugs him - he's near the limit of hugs per day and he knows he's got a couple more before the day is out. He reminds Ned there will be an empty desk in the squadroom and leaves the boy open-mouthed behind him. He makes the rounds of the building, with some leaning on desks, others dropping a cheerful "cheerio" over his shoulder as he walks by.

He wonders when he packs up the apartment, putting some in long-term storage, giving some to his neighbor who he knows holds annual "apartment sales." Senior shows up at the last minute, but it's both more and less awkward than he'd pictured it would be. His father smiles, tries to joke, clears his throat a couple dozen times and offers to drive his son to the airport. Tony declines, he has that planned already and he knows it's best to say goodbye like this.

He wonders as he walks down the stairs, his shoes smacking each step, his hand clutching a bottle of bourbon. Gibbs is measuring and cutting for a new boat and they drink in silence, for once Tony doesn't mind the dusty taste - he is acutely aware of everything he may never experience again. The boss is silent for so long and Tony is too, waiting, hoping, praying for the words that will excuse him from the constant confusion of whether this is really the right thing. And then the boss picks up a photo, dropping it in Tony's lap as he brushes by him to snag another piece of sandpaper. Tony stares at the photo, at the happy family - father, mother, little girl - wrapped in hugs and wreathed in smiles and he recognizes the gesture for what it is, absolution. He smiles, thanks the boss, and exits the basement, the feel of the last headslap following him into the evening air.

He wonders as he heads outside to where McGee is waiting in the car. They drive together in alternating bursts of silence and animated chatter about meaningless stuff. Tony says some stuff that he claims is to impart his lofty wisdom on the "McGeek," but he knows that Tim is just as good of an agent as he is in his own right, maybe even better. As they pull into the airport McGee says something about looking up to him and Tony replies with something equally sentimental before he can stop himself. It's Tony that pulls his friend in for a hug on the curb, patting his back and walking away without looking back. He'll miss the geek more than he can say.

He wonders as he shares a seat with a bald man who snores and a young woman with blonde hair who gives him several inviting looks before his polite dismissal finally shuts her down somewhere over the Atlantic. Tony closes his eyes, pictures his gun and badge on the desk in the squadroom, wonders if he wiped his files correctly - suddenly panicking about Gibbs finding certain prize files. Scenes flash through his mind as the plane continued swiftly east, pictures of crime scenes and late night stake-outs and undercover ops and Christmas in MTAC. He drifts off and when he wakes up, the tear tracks on his face are dry.

He wonders as he disembarks, gathering his luggage and his hopes and dreams under his arms, wonders until he steps out into the hot Israeli sun and suddenly she is there, his suitcases are forgotten at his feet as he wraps his arms around her, breathing in her spicy scent before she reaches up and kisses him, softly and then desperately, years of separation and passion pouring into every movement. And he stops wondering because this is right and he is home and the job was done and this is him, with her hand laced with his, walking away.


End file.
